


Wanna Be Missed

by okapi



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Anonymous Sex, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fem!Lestrade, Fem!mycroft, Gender or Sex Swap, Get Together, Kink Negotiation, Rule 63, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Lestrade discovers who her anonymous kink partner is. Fem!Mystrade. Get together fic.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Wanna Be Missed

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I wrote these two, but they are so sweet, sweet enough for Valentine's Day.

Lestrade had to have one vice.

She didn’t smoke. Anymore. She didn’t drink. That much. Drugs? Never.

So, she was due one vice. All coppers had one, right? There were only two detectives in the history of detectives who were mentally stable and emotionally uncompromised and viceless, and she was neither Colombo nor Tom Barnaby from _Midsomer Murders_. So, she got her fix her way. 

* * *

“Good afternoon, Heather.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

Heather was hardly recognizable as the creature Lestrade had pulled out of a skip on a case years ago, and that was a good thing.

Lestrade had helped her, not rescued her.

Heather had rescued herself, but there was still a bond and a trust between them.

“Shuffle, ma’am?”

“Always shuffle, Heather.” And because it was Heather and they had been doing this for a while, Lestrade confessed, “I don’t ever want the same hands on me twice.”

“Enjoy.”

“Thank you.”

Lestrade changed into the very short robe, arranged her zaftig figure on the slab next to the wall, and pushed a button. 

A chute opened. The slab moved. And the lower half of Lestrade was extended into the adjacent room. 

Lestrade pushed another button and her legs were spreading, her heels in stirrups. It might have been the scene of an alien-administered pap smear, if it hadn’t been something she’d come to crave, something she paid good money for.

There was a thick wall between her and the other person, the one with the complimentary vice.

Lestrade closed her eyes and waited. 

The first touch always like a lightning bolt strike, and today was no different.

Gloved hands were then holding, then gently rubbing her ankles. Then they were moving up her calves to her inner thighs. Nice caresses, Lestrade thought, there was something almost chivalrous about them—sometimes, the hands went directly for her pussy, shoving fingers in and pumping right away, and that was okay, too, the novelty and roughness had its own appeal—but she was enjoying this slow progression.

But it couldn’t be too slow as Lestrade paid by the minute. 

Caresses gave way to some gentle squeezing of the muscles and the fat, of the latter Lestrade had more than her fair share, but she imagined that she was being appraised and found good, like a slab of meat, one you said ‘wrap it up for me’ to the village butcher and were pleased at the prospect of taking home. 

A Sunday roast.

The hands quickly moved on to petting. And very nice petting, indeed. These were hands that knew what to do with a natural bush. The only time Lestrade had had to hit the yellow ‘warning’ button was when the hands had been far too fond of pulling on her pubic hair. Yes, she was a real ginger. No need to pull it out by the roots to test.

Now they were getting on with things, the petting was leading to clit work.

Round and round.

Lestrade was getting warmer and warmer, like set to simmer on the hob. God, it felt good. She moved her hands from her side to her neck and her breasts and skimmed them over her skin. She hummed.

_A finger or two would be nice right about now._

But she didn’t get fingers. Or the dildo, the only toy, on her approved list.

Just the rubbing, just the gentle, indirect clit play. It was lovely, really, very sensitive. Lestrade wondered if she could come from it alone. Maybe. But she’d rather not.

_C’mon!_

The room was soundproof, but Lestrade moved her feet and spread her toes impatiently.

For her show, Lestrade got a firm but not unpleasant pinch to the back of her left knee. 

She laughed out loud. “Oh, you’re playing, are you? Jesus, yes. I’ll be good.” She chuckled and sighed, “Fuck. I like you.”

More rubbing of the clit while the other hand repeated the caresses of her thighs, caresses which, thankfully, led to her pussy.

“Finally!”

Oh, no, did they only want to rub the outside? It was nice. It was really nice, but—

“Yes, yes, yes.”

But one wasn’t nearly enough. It was a long slender index finger which was searching, searching, searching…

“More!” cried Lestrade with some added swearing.

Then there were two fingers. Curling.

Lestrade was curling, too, grinding down on them.

“Yes!”

Three. Stretching her.

Lestrade clenched round them. The fingers began to thrust.

Lestrade relaxed and let them fuck her. They found her sweet spot with every single pass. She must be gushing like a firehouse on the other side. The clit play hadn’t stopped the whole time. That thumb was getting a workout.

It was enough. It was more than enough. 

Lestrade was coming. She let the pleasure overtake her like a wave, spread through her body like electricity.

She could, on rare occasion, she knew, squirt pornographically. She wondered if she was doing it now. She hit a button. The thrusting slowed at once. The thumb on her clit halted entirely.

_If they haven’t already, I hope they get off—or not—in the way they prefer. They definitely deserve a happy ending if they want one._

Lestrade clenched hard around the fingers. She didn’t actually want them to go.

And then, by some kind of kinky miracle, the fingers heard her.

And they were thrusting again, fucking her quick and hard and raw, and Lestrade was coming again before she even realized what was happening.

_Holy fuck!_

* * *

Heather’s face was drawn in concern. “Everything okay, ma’am?” Lestrade rarely summoned her ahead of checkout.

“I want to change my preferences.”

Heather tapped a stylus to her tablet. “Yes?”

“Mark that number,” Lestrade nodded at the wall which separated the two rooms, “as preferred. No, most preferred.”

“Very well. You’ll remain on shuffle?”

Lestrade shrugged. “I’ll go off it for a month and see.”

Heather nodded. “Would you like to change your profile?”

Their eyes met.

“Yes,” said Lestrade.

Heather smirked and handed her the stylus and the tablet.

* * *

“Miss Pauline?”

“Yes, Heather?”

“Uh, the one in 2B at four this afternoon—?”

“Heather, our clients pay us a tremendous amount of money for anonymity, specifically, to not ask questions like the one you’re about to ask. You’d do well to remember that. You’re on the A side.”

“But, uh, 2B was one of yours, wasn’t it? Today, I mean, I saw you leaving the booth at four. I didn’t think you did booth work anymore. Must be a VIP or something.”

Miss Pauline said nothing.

* * *

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Lestrade was gripping the handholds by her head.

Dental dams weren’t the sexiest thing on the planet, but dental _damn_ if Lestrade wasn’t getting eaten out like a free buffet on Saturday night.

Was it a Saturday night? No, it couldn’t be. She’d got the Russet murder case on a Saturday night, and she’d solved it three days later to much fanfare. Then a day for paperwork. And a day for a little treat.

It must be Thursday.

“Fuck!”

As before, those wonderful, wonderful fingers remained inside her, and now Lestrade was craving the second act. The other hand was still at work, petting of her bush, caressing of her thighs, and then—boom!

“Yes, yes, fuck me, harder!”

As Lestrade came down from the second orgasm, she thought she felt lips, soft, dry, bare lips, press against the back of her left knee, and then again to the sole of her left foot.

But she might’ve been imagining it.

* * *

“Hello, Heather.”

Heather smiled. “Must be Thursday. Um, ma’am?”

“Yes. There’s been a request.”

“Request?”

“From the B side.”

“Oh.”

“Something for your approval. For your list.”

“ _They_ are suggesting a toy?”

“Yes.”

“Can they do that?”

“In my experience, it’s unprecedented, but Miss Pauline approved it. I mean, she approved the suggestion. You, of course, need to review the description and approve or reject it for use.”

“Huh. For today’s session?”

“Yes.” 

“Huh. I wonder why—?”

“Um, ma’am?”

“Yeah?”

“A look at the calendar tells me you went off shuffle a year ago, today.”

“Holy fuck!” Lestrade laughed. “Has it been a year?! Jesus Christ. Oh, you mean it’s like an _anniversary_ gift?”

Heather grinned and nodded.

Lestrade covered her smile with her flat hand and shook her head. “Approve it.”

“Don’t you want to—?”

“Nope. I want to be surprised. I trust them. Do you remember Christmas?”

Heather nodded and held up flashing fingers and mouthed, ‘Six times!’

Lestrade mouthed back, ‘I know!’

* * *

Lestrade was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“It was big, Heather. Really big. In a good way. Not a painful way.”

“Yeah?”

“And ribbed. Like veins or something. Swirly.”

“Yeah.”

“It was really, really good. Oh, fuck! Could I, I mean, could I, oh, fuck, write them a thank you note or something? I mean, it’s our anniversary, right?”

“Ma’am…”

“I know. Forget it. I just feel wretched that I can’t, oh shit!” Lestrade made a futile gesture with both hands at the wall, “you know, say, thanks, for the glorious, mind-melting fuck!”

“Here,” said Heather, thrusting a business card which read ‘Consulting Services, Research and Development for the 21st Century,’ and a pen at her. “Write it here.”

“You’ll be sacked—if not filleted.”

“Only if Miss Pauline catches me.”

Lestrade took the card and pen and, after a moment’s pause, scribbled quickly.

* * *

“Excuse me,” said Heather.

“Yes?”

“You dropped this.”

“Did I?”

Grey eyes looked Heather in a manner most unsettling, and an icy voice said, “Thank you.” 

Mycroft Holmes did not look what was thrust into her hand until she reached the pavement. Only Sherlock might’ve noticed that she almost stumbled when she gave the card a glance. She thrust it into her trouser pocket and wrapped the matter neatly in brown paper and placed it in a section of her mind marked ‘In Private Only.’

* * *

“I am afraid there’s been a cancellation.”

“Indeed? How unfortunate.”

“I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience. It was made,” there was a cough and the voice dropped to a near inaudible whisper, “in person and seven minutes ago.” The voice returned to its normal register. “Can I interest you in—?”

“No, thank you. Good day.”

* * *

Mycroft stepped out onto the pavement. She took a few steps. An alley was to her left. She turned her head.

“Got a light?” The woman leaning against the bricks, the woman who’d given Mycroft the card three weeks earlier, was already smoking, but Mycroft stopped.

“No,” Mycroft replied. “Afraid not.”

“They’ve probably got ‘em at the Grey Gander,” the woman nodded at the pub on the corner, “if you need some.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

“Excuse me.”

Lestrade looked up.

_Mycroft Holmes!_

Mycroft Holmes looking for her in person could only mean one thing.

“Oh, fuck!” She scrambled off the seat in a panic. “Sherlock?!”

“Sherlock’s fine, well, as fine as Sherlock ever is.”

Lestrade looked down and switched her mobile off silent. “Oh. Sorry. I thought I’d missed an emergency. I’m a bit nervy today.” She settled back on the barstool. “Are you looking for me? Or are you just,” she frowned, “in the neighbourhood?”

“Would you believe I’ve had a bit of a setback and I’m looking for a place to sit and think for a moment?”

Lestrade gawked, then she waved at the stool beside her. _Christ, maybe there’s going to be a nuclear war this afternoon and nothing will matter after all._ “Join me, by all means! Um, what’s your poison?”

“Would you judge me if I asked for a whiskey sour?”

Lestrade almost laughed. “I don’t judge.” She hailed the barkeep.

They drank in silence for a while. Then Lestrade shot her companion a look.

“Try me,” said Mycroft.

“What?”

“Try telling me whatever is troubling you.”

“How do you know something’s troubling me?”

“The hour, the location. Not a difficult deduction if one has a spot of empathy.” 

Lestrade sniffed and studied her glass. Finally, she said, “May I use a metaphor?”

“Please do.”

Lestrade sniffed again and said, “Let’s say, I like whiskey.” She waved at Mycroft’s glass. “Whiskey, whiskey, whiskey. Nothing else. And a lot of it. And then I wake up one day and say ‘Maybe I’m too fond of whiskey. Maybe I should try gin.’ Should I try gin?”

Mycroft smiled.

Lestrade stared. She didn’t even know Mycroft Holmes _could_ smile.

“Do you _want_ to try gin?” asked Mycroft.

“No. My tastebuds are, I think, mortified beyond repair for whiskey.”

Mycroft was still smiling. She looked rather handsome, Lestrade thought.

“Then drink whiskey.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Unless, of course, alcoholism is a concern.”

“Well, there is that, too, but to be honest, I’m not so worried about that part of it. So, what about you? What’s this setback?”

“May I use a metaphor?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s my turn, and I don’t know whether to up the ante or fold.”

“Big stakes?”

“The biggest.”

“Then I’d say ‘all in.’”

“Indeed?”

“Go big or go home.”

Mycroft tilted her head. “It’s a thought.” 

They finished their drinks and rose.

Mycroft retrieved Lestrade’s coat from the hook and held it open for her.

“Thank you,” said Lestrade, slipping into it. “You know, it’s been a very long time since anyone’s done that for me.” 

“That’s a pity.”

They went their separate ways when they stepped outside.

Lestrade sank her hands in her coat pockets and touched something.

She pulled it out.

A card.

Her ‘thank you’ on one side, and a neat ‘you’re welcome’ on the other.

“SHIT!”

Lestrade’s world spun. Then she hurried back to the corner where the pub was and looked about frantically.

Mycroft was sitting on a nearby bench. Lestrade ran up to her.

“YOU!”

Mycroft nodded. “I’m your whiskey.”

“How long have you known?”

“Three weeks. Just since the card.”

“So, the whole year?”

“Completely unaware.”

“How did you know the card was me?”

“Handwriting.”

“Really?”

“You overcompensated on altering the capital ‘T’ which, you’re right, is your most distinctive letter, and thus forgot about the ‘Y’ which is also characteristic.”

“Huh. I never noticed.”

Mycroft shrugged.

Lestrade stared, then blinked. Then she turned her head and tapped the card against her lips.

“What if I don’t believe you?” She shot Mycroft a sly, soft look.

Mycroft studied her own brogues thoughtfully, then picked an invisible piece of lint from her trousers. “Then I suppose the onus would be on me to _prove_ it.” She looked up with a gentle mischief in her dark eyes.

“When?” asked Lestrade a bit too eagerly.

“No gift like the present. I’ve just had a cancellation.”

“Funny. I’ve just made one.”

Mycroft’s lips curled in what might have been stifled amusement. “Sounds like we’re a match.” 

“Who would’ve thought it?”

Mycroft shook her head slowly. “Indeed. So, your place, my place, or a neutral place, like a hotel. Or we could return to—?”

“My place is a dump. Do you have a guestroom?”

“Yes, a very nice one.”

“Let’s do that.”

“Excellent. My car is garaged around the corner.”

“You drive, too?!”

Mycroft fixed her with an incredibly fond look. “I do all sorts of things.”

“Sorry. I’m addled. You’ve had three weeks to come to terms with this revelation. I’ve had, you know, five minutes.”

“It is overwhelming. How about a short walk? And I must say if along the way, or at any time, you should change your mind about a demonstration, I won’t be offended.”

“Will you be disappointed?”

That twist of lips that Lestrade was beginning to find charming reappeared. “Yes.”

* * *

“What are the odds?” asked Lestrade as the car crawled along through traffic. “It’s a city of nine million people!”

“The odds were aided by my request for certain physical criteria.”

“What? You asked for a white, plump, ginger-haired natural pussy?”

Mycroft only smiled Sphinx-like.

“I’m your type, then,” continued Lestrade, “at least from the naked waist down.” 

“Yes.”

“How many did you get?”

“One.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Not in the least.”

* * *

Lestrade peeked into the guestroom and looked about. “It is nice. And a bit, uh, anonymous.”

“For us, that might be an aphrodisiac.”

“True. I hadn’t thought of that. Oh, is silence a thing for you? We don’t have the wall.”

“No, I hope you won’t censor yourself.”

“You, either. You drive. You smile. You fuck. Do you swear, Mycroft Holmes?”

Mycroft smiled. “Every damn day.”

Lestrade giggled. “Do you like that film?”

“Yes.”

“Can I say your name during it? Can I call you ‘Mycroft’?”

“Yes, of course. Safe words?”

“I suppose we could go with red/yellow/green, but I’d rather keep it simple. My safe words are ‘Stop,’ ‘Don’t do that.’ ‘It hurts.’ Yours?”

“Mine could be ‘I’d rather not if you don’t mind.’”

Lestrade laughed. “Uh, hard no, don’t pull out my pubic hair.”

“No! Goodness me, no.” Mycroft’s brow furrowed.

“What?”

“The service, quite rightly, insists on precautions.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I’m clean, tested, all of that. I mean, I’d have to be on their books. And you’re the only one I’ve been with for over a year.”

“Indeed?” Mycroft seemed a little flustered. “Well, um, I also, of course, follow the guidelines and protocols.”

The penny dropped. “Oh, well, in that case, if you feel comfortable…”

“If you, also…”

Lestrade whistled. “I could have your mouth right on me. Hands, too. Bare. Raw.”

“The prospect has tremendous appeal, does it not?”

“Oh, God, yes.”

* * *

In a matter of minutes, Lestrade was on her back in her blouse and bra. Her legs were hanging off the bed, her heels propped up on the seats of two adjustable stools. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine she had not cancelled her appointment.

She heard the door open. 

Then bare hands.

Lovely, lovely, soft warm, dry bare hands holding her ankles and moving up her legs with those circular caresses she had come to know and crave.

Now, they were at her inner thighs.

“You made me come six times at Christmas.”

Mycroft hummed.

“And for Guy Fawkes, you kept me on the edge for forty-five minutes before you let me come—only once!”

“It was a fireworks metaphor.”

“Oh, was it? Well, that was very clever. I wish I’d known that at the time, I would’ve cursed you slightly less.”

The hands were at her bush. Petting.

“Can I look?” asked Lestrade.

“Yes.”

Lestrade pushed up on her elbows.

Mycroft was standing in rolled shirtsleeves and belted trousers.

“You look normal. I mean, casual for you, but normal.”

“You’re surprised.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be.” She flopped back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“Oh, you know how to pet a pussy, Mycroft.”

“You flatter me, my dear.”

“Truth. I’ve thought that since the first day you touched me—oh!”

Mycroft has spread her, exposing her clit to air. “I’m impatient, my dear.”

“Yeah, you feel like sucking, Mycroft?”

“Gladly.”

Lestrade groaned. The wet heat, the soft pressure, the tongue. It went on and on until she came, trembling, quivering, mewling, and gripping the duvet with both ands.

Mycroft kept her mouth on Lestrade, keeping her clit warm and covered as she came down from the first high. Eventually, Lestrade pushed up once more on her elbows.

“Convinced?” asked Mycroft with a small smile.

“No, I think I’ll need a bit more.”

“Hmm.”

Mycroft was standing, looking nonchalant, if slightly disheveled, but her fingers, bare fingers, were tracing and teasing Lestrade’s labia.

“My dear, at the risk of being cliché, you are very, very wet.”

Lestrade smiled. “You like that?”

“Immensely.” Mycroft pushed two fingers inside Lestrade and pulled them out, making a loud, wet noise. She dropped her gaze. “You’re obscene.”

“And you’re parched. Drink up.”

Mycroft fell to her knees between Lestrade’s legs and lapped until Lestrade came again, this time with Mycroft’s name on her lips, and much to Lestrade’s delight, afterwards, Mycroft rested her head on Lestrade’s thigh and sighed.

Lestrade struggled but finally got herself up.

“Touch yourself if you want to. I’ll close my eyes or watch or whatever you want. No pressure, though. You’ve been making me feel good for a solid year, I want you to feel good, too, however that works for you.” 

Mycroft looked up, face wet, eyes wild, short hair most decidedly on its way to disheveled. 

“You’re wrecked,” observed Lestrade.

“Just about.” 

“Mycroft, listen, I know I’m just a useless punter who—”

“Wait, you’re not the punter in this arrangement, I am.”

“I’m using you for sex!”

Mycroft snickered. “It’s not my body made dangerously vulnerable in this scenario, my dear, and I am definitely using you for sex.”

“Well, I wish you’d get on with it.” Lestrade flopped back on the bed again. “Can I get completely naked?”

“Be my guest.”

But before Lestrade could do anything but unbutton her blouse and unfasten her bra, Mycroft’s three fingers were pumping, curling and stretching her, hard, fast, with no pause, no gentleness, no softness, a symphony of squelching and sloshing.

This was the hard fuck that had made Lestrade see stars that first time and which had her coming back for more. 

The only indication Lestrade got was a soft, ragged, public school ‘Oh,’ after she’d come a third time. She waited, then asked,

“Good?”

“Very.”

“You wanna come lie up here, bask in the afterglow with me?”

Lestrade rolled on her side, and Mycroft stretched on her side facing her. 

They smiled at each other.

“I don’t want Heather to get in trouble or lose her job,” said Lestrade.

“That won’t happen. I owe her far too much.”

“Good.” Lestrade smiled. “You’re handsome.” Mycroft blushed. “And surprisingly easy to talk to.”

“You’re beautiful. I have enjoyed your body so much.” 

“You’ve only seen half of it. You like tits, too?”

“Yes.”

“Lucky me.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“I’m luckier.”

“I respectfully beg to differ.”

“We can fight about that and the punter business later. Would you beg for me, Mycroft Holmes?”

“Yes. And you?”

“You didn’t hear me through the wall on Guy Fawkes?”

“Most unfortunately, no. The soundproofing is remarkable.”

“You researched that anniversary dildo, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I have one upstairs, in fact.”

“Really?! You use on yourself?”

“No, I bought one first to make absolutely certain it met my specifications. Then I bought a second to entrust to the service and, well, I don’t know if this interests you, but it comes with a harness.”

Lestrade bolted. “OH, MYCROFT!”

Mycroft licked her lips and grinned.

“It was a strap-on? Oh, God. It was so good, My.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“I’m clenching right now just thinking about it. We have to use it again soon.”

“You need something to fill you?”

“Finger me? Just a bit. Please?”

“Of course. Come here.”

“I’ll come anywhere you want—in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Lestrade scooted closer and bent one leg. Mycroft sank three fingers in at once and rocked them in and out slowly.

“One day, my dear, I’d like to put my fist inside you.”

“Shit, My! Yes, I want to take you. Lots of cuddles afterwards, though. It’ll be intense.” Lestrade opened her shirt and rubbed her nipple and watched Mycroft’s gaze follow her fingers. “So many things to look forward to. Whenever we can, whenever our schedules allow. I’m greedy, I know.”

“So am I.”

Mycroft bent her head and Lestrade arched her back and then Mycroft was sucking Lestrade nipple and Lestrade was bucking against Mycroft’s fingers and her rubbing thumb and coming again.

“We could train for a new personal best,” whispered Mycroft.

“Seven orgasms?”

“Or a nice round dozen.”

“Fuck, My.”

“Yes.” She laughed and removed her hand and reached for a flannel. “Yes.”

“Mycroft?”

“Hm?”

“Is this going to be one of those love stories where we fuck like rabbits and think it’s just sex, just physical, but we end up falling in love with each other and living happily ever after?”

Mycroft hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

“Oh, good. I love those.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The title is from a song by Hayley Kiyoko.


End file.
